With a pole-axe in his hand:
‘’Tis your head, ’tis your head, Lord Derwentwater,
’Tis your head that I demand.’
9
. . . . . . .
His eyes with weeping sore,
He laid his head upon the block,
And words spake never more.
With a pole-axe in his hand:
‘’Tis your head, ’tis your head, Lord Derwentwater,
’Tis your head that I demand.’
9
. . . . . . .
His eyes with weeping sore,
He laid his head upon the block,
And words spake never more.